


The Bluecoat Cafe

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Also with puppies, Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: George Washington is retired from the military, and he's tired of his usual routine. He stumbles upon the Bluecoat Cafe, a coffeeshop owned by Anna Strong, who is about to sell it. Perhaps he can have a new routine.





	1. The New Keeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts).



> This is a BenWash story, with Annlett interspersed. What I'm probably going to do is alternate chapters. One chapter will be focused on BenWash, the next on Annlett.

George still woke every morning at 5 a.m. A remnant of military training, he supposed, rubbing his tired eyes. No matter how his body protested, his mind was active, and there would be no falling back to sleep. The muffled shuffling of the dogs in their kennel forced him to rise from his blankets, his feet sliding easily into slippers. His routine began this way every morning, with a trip into the fog of daybreak, the dogs pulling enthusiastically on their leashes, while his coffee percolated. It would be waiting for him when he got back, chilled to the bone. 

Simultaneously, George found comfort in that routine in the same breath that housed his ennui. He had been a military man for twenty years; he was exhausted by routine. He wanted something different, but deviating from his usual path brought him a certain degree of conditional anxiety. 

He had to remind himself, again, that he didn’t have a commanding officer anymore. He had no keeper. Captain yanked on the leash, trying to chase the same red squirrel that was always teasing him from an oak tree across the street. George glanced down at the vivacious puppy, still going through his gangly adolescent phase. Perhaps Captain was his keeper now. 

That gave him an idea…

His coffee was ready when he pushed open the door to his apartment. Mopsey, Tipsy, and Cloe bounded in, their tongues wagging happily. Captain plodded into the kitchen where he regarded George with serious eyes. George hung the leashes on the hook by the door and tutted at him. 

“I’m coming,” he admonished lightly, padding into the kitchen and pouring his coffee. Captain’s eyes followed his master. 

“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Captain leaned back on his haunches, ready to jump up to lick his face. “What do you want?” George asked, using the playful baby voice that the pups always found most excitable. Captain, realizing happily that he was being addressed, wagged his tail to show he was listening. George put his hand on the fridge, and watched as Captain’s tail stilled. 

He chuckled. He knew what Captain was after. That wouldn’t stop him from playing this game again. 

He patted the cabinet door, below the sink, where he kept cleaning supplies. “This?” he asked. Captain whined, and George grinned. “No?” 

He moved to the left, tapping another cabinet, this one full of pots and pans. “This one?” Captain narrowed his eyes at the door, distrusting naturally the cabinet that held the loudest instruments in the small kitchen. 

By the time he got to the pantry, where the dog food was kept, Captain’s tail was thumping so loudly on the door that he had garnered the attention of Mopsey, who was waiting patiently by the cluster of dog bowls. 

“Gluttony,” George said to the lot of them, pouring food into the bowls. “Pure gluttony.” 

He scrambled two eggs while the dogs ate, listening to their feet against the floor, the sounds of food crunching in their teeth. It was a symphony to George, a soundtrack he played every morning. By the time he finished eating, the bowls were empty, and Cloe was asleep, her heavy jaw pulling the empty bowl over. 

George surveyed the damage with a smile, pushing the few stray pieces of kibble into a pile. By the time he returned with Captain, Cloe would have eaten it all. 

Captain, the most attuned to George’s patterns, was headed to his own designated cushion when the sound of George grabbing a leash reached his ears. Immediately, he was at George’s side, his eyes large and hopeful. 

“Come on,” George said quietly, clipping the leash in place. “It’s your turn to lead.” 

***

After an hour of letting Captain lead, George began to seriously regret his decision. Captain lurched after every squirrel, every man with a falafel cart, every damn car alarm. What was George even thinking? Letting his dog lead him to a new...anything was a good way to end up acquainted with Animal Control, and not much else. 

He sighed heavily, tugging on Captain’s leash. “Come on, Cap,” he called. “Time to head home.” As usual, Captain pulled insistently on the leash in the opposite direction, but this time, George planted his feet. “No,” he snapped. “Let’s go.” 

Chagrined, Captain returned to his side, tail still swinging with the aftermath of his delight. Just in case, George turned to see whatever Captain had spotted. He saw nothing of merit other than an old wooden sign with the words “Bluecoat Cafe” swinging slightly in the wind, the quiet creaking catching Captain’s attention once more. 

The cafe was still closed. George tugged gently on the leash and turned away from it, silently promising to return if only so this experiment wouldn’t be a total waste of his time. 

As predicted, Cloe had eaten all of the discarded kibble when he and Captain returned home, and all three of the remaining pups were curled up on Captain’s cushion, a tangle of light brown limbs and floppy ears. Captain hopped over to join them, disrupting the pile just enough to settle in and relax. 

George regarded them all for a long, peaceful moment before he flicked on the television, the next step in his slightly disrupted schedule. 

***

The Bluecoat Cafe was open when George returned at noon, the sign still swinging just so in the wind. The little sign on the door was creased in the middle and slightly smudged, hanging from a little chain that reminded George of the pens at the bank that were always attached to the desks. 

He pushed the door open, listening to the faint jingle of a bell. A woman with long dark hair was bent over a box, closing the flaps with an angry forcefulness that almost pushed George back out the door again. At the sound of the bell, she rose and turned to him, her dark eyes the exact same color as her hair. 

“I’m sorry, we’re not open,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I mean, we’re pretty much closed for good, so,” she let the sentence end there, and George, who was waiting for her to finish it, responded slightly louder than he intended to. 

“Oh, of course, my - my apologies,” he stumbled, trying to ease his way back out the door. The woman stared at him curiously, as if she hadn’t expected that response. 

“You know what?” she said with sudden determination, “come in. I still have most of the things I need out. I might as well make one more cup of coffee, right?” 

George was fairly certain that was a rhetorical question, so he paused in his exit, waiting for her to continue. Decidedly, the door closed on the heel of his foot, pushing him farther inside the small shop. 

It was full of what looked like old wood and heavy tables that he could tell, just from a cursory glance, were antiques. There were muskets hanging on the wall, and a rebel uniform, blue and gold, behind glass. It looked like a museum, a place out of their time. Outside the cafe, the crowds continued to bustle by, but it seemed like the incessant ringing of cell phones, the drudgery of a normal, modern day, was muffled here. 

It was a comforting notion. 

“Are you allergic to anything?” the woman asked, her back already turned to him. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” George answered, finally sitting on one of the stools in front of the counter. He watched as she started pouring different things into different shiny pieces of machinery (admittedly, he had no idea what she was doing), trying to figure out if he should initiate conversation or just sit in silence to watch her work. 

“I’m Anna, by the way,” she finally said, turning halfway toward him. “Anna Strong.” 

“George Washington,” he replied. She nodded her recognition, her eyes focused on her work. 

“Sorry I’m ignoring you,” she said after another long bout of silence. “I just - I want to savor this last cup of coffee.” 

“I’m - it’s okay,” he stopped himself halfway through an apology he knew she probably didn’t want to hear. 

“You know what?” she said with sudden ferocity. “It’s not okay. I should be able to do this job for the rest of my life. I’m good at making coffee. I was good at running this place. But my husband,” George dropped his gaze to her left hand, the ring finger bare, “my husband got arrested and he was the one that always took care of the bills, you know? And without two paychecks…” 

George didn’t want to prompt her to continue; she sounded perilously close to tears or a rage that he wouldn’t be able to withstand. 

“Either way,” she heaved a great breath that seemed to calm her, “One of our acquaintances bought the place, and he says that I might be able to stay on, but he’s going to change the name, and all of this -” she motioned to the decor. “I don’t know, it just feels like a waste.” 

She turned on a machine that made a loud whirring sound and conversation was momentarily impossible. George shifted on his seat uncomfortably. He had just wanted a change in his routine, not a cup of coffee from a woman that looked like she wanted to throw that coffee at someone, much less have them drink it. 

The whirring ceased, and she turned back to him. “Do you like caramel?” she asked, already holding it in her hand. 

“Yes?” it sounded tentative enough to be a question. 

She set the caramel down and grabbed the whipped cream, holding it up to him in a silent question. He shrugged, and she filled the top of the cup with it, tossing the can behind her and into the trashcan with a nonchalance that spoke to the inevitable end of this place. Hearing it hit the side of the plastic receptacle felt like a death knoll. 

She drizzled caramel across the top and surveyed her work proudly for a moment before she slid it over to him. He looked down at it, and back up at her. 

“I feel bad, drinking your last coffee,” he admitted, but Anna brushed off his sentiment with a shrug. 

“Someone’s got to be last, I suppose,” she pointed out. “Try it, I want to see what you think.” 

The way she set it actually made him feel even worse, and he momentarily considered pushing it away and telling her that she should be the last one, but her eyes were hopeful, expectant, and if only to please a woman who seemed to be having a horrible day, he took a sip. 

If asked, George would be hard-pressed to identify what Anna put in that coffee that made it so delicious. He had seen her put caramel in it, but there were subtle flavors too that he could single out but not identify. She watched him with slightly raised eyebrows, an almost half-smile on the edge of her lips. 

“Good, right?” she asked, satisfied that somehow his facial expression had bolstered her confidence. 

“What’s in it?” he took another sip, trying futilely to answer the question he’d just posed. 

“Nutmeg, cinnamon, caramel,” she shrugged. “A little bit of paprika.” 

He stared down at the dark liquid, the whipped cream slowly dissipating into it, as if it could confirm the ingredients. “It’s delicious,” he admitted. She turned away from him, carefully dropping the little bottle of caramel into the box. George watched it happen, feeling like he was looking at a curtain closing over the end of an era. But that was a dramatic comparison, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he had been here before, like he could truly feel this loss as keenly as Anna. 

“Mrs. Strong -”

“Oh, Anna, please,” she actually grimaced away from her last name, he saw her shoulders rise even while she kept her back to him. 

“Anna, then,” he acknowledged. “You said you needed two paychecks to keep this place up and running, right?” 

She froze, her hand in the trajectory of grabbing yet another piece of a shiny espresso machine that she was systematically breaking down. “My coffee isn’t that good, Mr. Washington.” 

“George,” he corrected. 

“Whatever,” she turned back to him, the piece of silver….something still shining in her hand. “I’ve had people try to help me out before. It doesn’t work.” 

“I’m not asking to help you out,” George replied. “I’m asking to be your partner.” 

He half-expected some sort of sharp reaction, perhaps the loud clank of the espresso machine as she dropped it on the floor. Maybe a moment of stuttering before she accepted his offer. Instead, she stared at him in pensive silence for a long few seconds while George felt like squirming under her gaze. 

“No,” she said definitively, dropping the little shiny part into the box. 

“No?” 

“You heard me, George,” she said with exasperation. “I said no.” 

“But -”

“It took me months to convince someone I knew to buy this place,” she continued. “Months. And I don’t even know you! I don’t know if you’re some kind of con artist, or -”

“I’m not!” he exclaimed. 

“I don’t know that,” she replied. “Because I don’t know you. Do you even have an income? Any business sense? Buying a shop and running it, even with a partner, is not something you just decide to do. It takes planning, and budgeting, and -”

George held up his hand. “You’re right. This was a terrible idea.” 

She nodded once, satisfied that she had convinced him. “Really, it is. It’s probably best that we all...move on.” 

“I thought you loved this place,” George said. “You said you wanted to make coffee the rest of your life, right?” 

“I do,” she sighed. “But if this place is going to die, there’s no point in giving it CPR and hoping that it comes back to life.” 

“I’ll tell you what,” George said, an idea springing to mind. “Give me the next three hours. Let me talk to the man you said bought this place -”

“DeYoung -”

“Sure,” George waved her off. “Let me talk to him and see what the specifics look like. Keep packing, but don’t close up yet.” 

“George -”

He was already rising from his chair, taking another deep drink of that coffee concoction she’d given him. “You know, I get the feeling people don’t defy you very often,” he remarked, grabbing a twenty out of his wallet and sliding it over the counter. 

“They don’t,” she noted with a smirk. 

“Well I do.”


	2. A Shot of Espresso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George attempts to prove to Anna that he can be a good business partner; Ben gives Anna some good best friend advice, and a piece of lemon cake.

Martin DeYoung was a sallow, plump man that reminded George of an overstuffed sausage. He fixed his beady eyes on George over the table, a light sheen of sweat shining on his brow. George struggled not to look at it for very long, instead directing his gaze to his interlocked fingers, pensively waiting on the smooth wood of the table that filled all Pret-A-Mangers in the greater New York area. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” DeYoung said faux-apologetically, the twitch in his paper thin lips a dead giveaway. “Mrs. Strong is months behind on her payments, I’m the only one willing to take up the slack.” He had an accent, one that George couldn’t quite place, but it sounded smug, almost condescending. 

George leaned forward on his elbows, studiously fixing his eyes on DeYoung’s and not his sweaty forehead. “And what if I happened to be willing to take up that…slack?” he asked, waving his hand at the word that DeYoung had just tossed out. “What then?” 

DeYoung faltered, his eyes leaving George to settle on something else. “And why would you be willing to throw away thousands of dollars for an unsuccessful coffee shop?” he asked. 

George shrugged. “I’ll answer the question if you do.”

DeYoung seemed to realize he was caught, and George watched his eyes flit to different corners of the room before they came back to him. “Her husband has asked me to take over, as a favor. I am a smart businessman that could turn that place into a profitable one.” At George’s raised eyebrows, he continued unnecessarily. “It’s a matter of friendship.” 

“And how many other businesses do you own, Mr. DeYoung?” George asked cautiously. If the man was a smart businessman, perhaps that would be the best thing for the Bluecoat. But DeYoung hesitated, the sweat on his forehead catching the light overhead, and George knew the answer was going to be one he liked. 

“Just one,” he said finally, almost sheepishly. 

George grinned. “If this is truly a matter of friendship,” he said cautiously, “then I should tell you that I studied business during my time in the military, and I commanded several units. All of those units were successful.” 

DeYoung opened his mouth to respond, but George pressed on. 

“Here’s what I know, after spending just a few minutes with you,” he said sincerely, his eyes staying for just a moment on his sweaty forehead. “You’re friends with Selah Strong, but not good friends, or else Anna wouldn’t have called you an acquaintance.” 

“Well –”

“And, you didn’t decide to take over out of the goodness of your heart, because if so, why did Anna tell me that she had to beg you for months to take over?” 

“Anna misunderstood –”

“Perhaps she also misunderstood whether or not she was going to be able to keep working at the shop that she helped start,” George shrugged. “Because a friend would let her continue to work in her shop, don’t you think, Mr. DeYoung?” 

“It really isn’t a good investment –”

“And that is exactly why I would be willing to take it off your hands,” George finished. “Call it an act of friendship, if you will.” 

***

“And then he just says he wants to buy the cafe,” Anna said through a mouthful of croissant. “I mean, can you believe it? I hardly remember his name.” 

“You said it was George.” 

“It’s a figure of speech, Benjamin,” Anna snapped. She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it, separating it into three pieces. 

“He must have really upset you,” Ben noted, checking his brown watch on his wrist, “because you’ve been complaining for almost an hour now.” 

Anna shook her head, her hands mindlessly braiding her long hair. “He didn’t….upset me, exactly,” she explained, freeing her hair and fidgeting with the plate that had once held her croissant. “But...I don’t want to get my hopes up, you know?” 

“Wait,” Ben crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I thought you just told me that this guy was completely full of it. Now you believe him?” 

“I want to keep my shop,” Anna replied quietly. “This guy is offering me the chance to keep it.” 

“But you have no idea if he’s actually capable of paying off your debt,” Ben said. “And you have no idea if he means what he says. He could just be a guy trying to tell a pretty girl what she wants to hear.” 

Anna shook her head. “It didn’t seem like that at all.” 

“Anna,” Ben dropped his hand over hers to stop her fidgeting. “I understand that not having Selah around is hard -” she tightened her grip around his hand. His gaze dropped to it for a moment before he pressed on. “But don’t be hasty with something like this. What if he’s lying? Or what if he’s underestimating the work involved in taking over a business?” 

“I know the downsides,” she said sharply. “But consider my other option. DeYoung running my shop into the ground, because, let’s face it, that’s pretty much all he can do. And I have to walk past that place every day and know that it’s not mine anymore.” 

“Or you could be signing a deal with the devil,” Ben pointed out. Anna pursed her lips together and sighed. 

“Does the devil have money?” she asked, a weak half-smile on her face. Ben pushed his lemon cake slice onto her plate, and her fingers immediately started pulling it apart. “He said to give him three hours. He’s got…”

Ben glanced down at his watch again. “Half an hour left,” he said. “Go back to your shop and wait. If he doesn’t show, then you’ve dismantled a perfectly good slice of lemon cake for no reason.” Anna dropped her eyes to the mangled cake sheepishly, and wiped her fingers on the napkin, sucking a leftover bit of icing off her fingers. “Go on,” Ben urged, a knowing smile on his face, “and trust your gut. It’s never been wrong.” 

***

George was lingering outside the locked café when she got there, a plump, lanky puppy on the end of a leash. At Anna’s approach, the puppy lunged at her, pulling desperately on the leash, a blonde tail wagging happily and rapidly. 

“Cloe,” George warned, and the excitable pup lowered herself onto her haunches, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “Sorry about her,” he said to Anna graciously, stepping aside to let her unlock the door. “She loves everyone, even the mailman and the neighbor’s cat.” 

“That’s not a bad thing, is it, Cloe?” Anna directed to the dog in a higher pitched baby voice. Cloe’s tail thumped against the concrete. “Come on, baby girl,” she tilted her head toward the shop, and Cloe took that as an invitation and lurched inside, pulling George after her. 

“I assume, by your presence outside my door, that you either have very good news or very bad news for me,” she said over her shoulder to George as the bell jingled. 

“I’ll tell you what,” George said, taking up his post at the counter, his coffee cup still waiting there, almost empty, “If you make me a cup of coffee, something…weird and experimental, I’ll tell you.” 

“Weird and experimental?” Anna repeated, an excited smile lingering just behind her eyes. “I have most of my stuff packed up…” her eyes landed on the almost empty counter, and up into a cupboard, still wide open, “but I think I can whip something up. But only if you tell me what happened while I do.” 

George extended his hand to her. “Deal,” he said gravely, and Anna buttoned up her smile to shake his hand, her eyebrows rising in a faux-serious manner. 

“Okay, your deal starts…” she reached for a bag of coffee beans. “Now.” 

George watched her pour some beans into a grinder and let the loud whirring fill the shop while Anna’s expectant eyes lingered on him. He grinned, motioning to the grinder with a shrug. Can’t talk while you’re doing loud things, he was saying. She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder to keep a better eye on her work. 

When the grinder was done, George cleared his throat. “DeYoung seemed to think that taking over your business was a matter of friendship.” 

Anna snorted. “Maybe ten years ago. But he and Selah don’t really get along; Selah is too brooding, too” she waved her arms around wildly, as if that made any sense to George. “DeYoung is too much of a traditionalist to like someone that walks around like Batman. And Selah had no patience for his posturing, for his sanctimonious attitude.” 

“So who convinced him to take over?” George asked. 

“I think Selah tried to ask before he got arrested, but DeYoung wasn’t convinced,” Anna shrugged. “I had to go to him and ask…more often than my dignity will let me recount.” 

“He was pretty insistent that he was being a helpful friend,” George pointed out. “It came off a little –”

“Fake?” Anna supplied, the smell of brewing coffee filling the shop with warmth and spice. “That’s because it is. I imagine he’s going to just…take over and pretend like the place is hemorrhaging money, change it into some pretentious Bible store or some damn gift shop and rake in the money with ‘I love New York’ shirts and probably even rip off Hamilton merchandise.” 

“Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” George said with a smile. Anna stared at him for a moment, suspiciously taking in the expression on his face, and turned away to pour the coffee into a mug. 

“And why is that?” she asked. 

“Because he’s not buying it from you anymore,” he said softly. “That smells good.” 

“Who gives a damn if it smells good,” Anna waved him off. “What do you mean, he isn’t buying it? Did you scare him off?” 

George smirked. “No,” he said with a chuckle. “I just…told him that I would be paying off the debts on this place, and then you and I would be partners.” 

Anna’s hands froze over a little shaker of unknown spices, her fingers just barely trembling. “And what does that mean, exactly?” 

George sighed. “It means that I have quite a bit of money saved up from my time in the military, and I am going to use some of it to pay off all of the debt you have incurred on this place. And then, we will be partners. Fifty-fifty. I have no intention of being your boss, or trying to take this place from you.” Anna released a shaky breath and grabbed the spice shaker. “All I ask is that you let me run the cash register or something.” 

“Why?” she asked, keeping her back to him. “Why the cash register?” 

“I don’t have a whole lot to do right now,” George shrugged. “I figured that I shouldn’t ruin your business by trying to make your coffee, so the cash register is all that I’ve got. I’m a decent baker, too, if that helps.” 

Anna chuckled, the sound of whipped cream punctuating the laugh. She passed him another huge cup, the corners of her eyes wet. “Maybe it will help,” she said thoughtfully, pressing the knuckle of her index finger to the corner of her eye. “That is, if you actually pay off the debt and don’t try to rob my empty bank account blind or something.” 

George grinned, his hands wrapping around the large cup. “That wouldn’t be a very sound investment,” he pointed out. A long silence followed, the only sound George’s fingers tapping on the mug. “Thank you,” he said finally.

“For the coffee?” she asked. 

“For letting me do this,” he replied. 

“I would think that I should be thanking you,” Anna answered, her eyes on George’s intensely. “What would you be thanking me for?” 

“Maybe one day, I’ll tell you,” George said, taking a sip of the coffee. “Oh holy hell, this is bitter, what is in this?” 

Anna shrugged. “Dark chocolate, paprika, and some ground espresso beans,” she laughed at the twist in George’s mouth. “Pass it to me,” she said, holding out her hands. He slid it over to her and she took a tentative sip; soon her lips matched George’s. “This needs milk,” she said definitively. 

Cloe’s tail thumped against the counter happily, and it was only then that George realized Cloe was behind the counter with Anna. He leaned over the counter, his eyes searching for the pup; she was curled in a ball, her head up and alert and following Anna as she leaned into a tiny refrigerator under the other counter for a carton of milk. 

“I think she likes you,” he said genially. Anna’s eyes dropped to the puppy as she poured a healthy amount of milk into the cup and stirred. 

“I like her too,” she said softly. “Maybe she can be the store’s mascot.” 

Cloe’s tail thumped harder against the counter, and George laughed. “Yeah, perhaps she can.”


	3. New Beginnings

Monday morning was damp, full of dew and promise. George rose at his usual time, went through his routine of taking the dogs for a walk, the tangle of leashes hooked on his belt loops, Captain leading the charge to knock him off-balance as often as possible. He passed by the Bluecoat, knowing that it wouldn’t be open at seven in the morning, and cast a smile in its direction. 

He truly felt like working in that little coffeeshop would be his salvation. He had lived so long without any reason, without anything to do other than trudge from one day to the next, that knowing that he had to go to the bank, of all things, was enticing, exciting, exhilarating. He tugged the dogs back to the apartment, smiling even wider when Cloe tried to go back to the coffeeshop. 

When he got to the shop at opening, eight a.m. sharp, he was dressed in a suit, pressed and hardly ever worn. Anna, behind the counter with her hair pulled up into a messy bun, raised her eyebrows at him. 

“I had no idea you moonlighted as a lawyer,” she chuckled. 

“I find the bank takes me seriously when I’m not wearing jean shorts,” he pointed out. “Did you still want to come with me?” 

She pulled out two to-go cups, pouring a healthy measure of coffee in each. “Absolutely,” she said. “Cream?” 

“Please.” 

It surprised him how easily they existed in this comfortable silence, pouring sugar and creamer into each other’s coffee, an already established relationship that felt like a pair of siblings that had known each other for years, finally able to catch up. He liked that; existing in quiet, continuing to be as fundamentally who he was with someone he hoped was doing the same. 

On their short walk to the bank, just a few blocks away, he decided to probe a little deeper. 

“I hope that...that you are comfortable, with this,” he said, realizing that he was apprehensive of her answer as her eyes, somehow simultaneously stern and comforting, slid over to him. 

“Comfortable isn’t the right word,” she acquiesced. “I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable, but I am...happy. I mean, as happy as I can be.” 

She stared up at the towering bank building with what he realized was fear. “And when this is over, I’ll gladly be happier.” 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he reassured her as he held the door open for her. 

“I imagine my interactions with the bank are far different than yours,” she pointed out. 

The cold, impersonal quiet of the bank pressed upon them after that, but George had nothing to say to that bit of information. True, he wasn’t born rich, but his wife had plenty of money, and when she passed away, she left it to him and only him, and his time in the military, with a high rank, gave him more money than he cared to admit. Certainly, it gave him more than he needed. 

The man they sat down with went by the name of Donovan, and his customer service face looked as hollow as George expected. He offered his hand genially to George, his eyes landing on his tie with appreciation, before they went to Anna, in her baggy jeans and purple sweater. He did not offer her his hand to shake. 

She didn’t look inclined to shake it anyway. 

“So, Mr. Washington, how do you know Mrs. Strong?” Donovan asked as he rummaged through the Bluecoat’s files. 

“I’m her new business partner,” George said stiffly, his eyes straying to Anna as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her lack of comfort was not making him feel at ease. He caught her gaze and just barely widened his eyes; her tapping foot stilled. 

“Well, how lucky of you, Mrs. Strong, to come across him at such an opportune time,” Donovan said silkily, clicking around on the computer to survey George’s accounts. “It seems like he’s exactly the white whale you needed.” 

“What the hell is that supposed -”

“We’d just like to get caught up on the shop’s mortgage, if that’s okay,” George interrupted, dropping his hand to Anna’s arm for just a moment before reclaiming it. 

***

“I can definitely see why you don’t like the bank,” George said as they stepped into the noonday sun. He shielded his eyes as Anna slipped a pair of sunglasses on. “That guy was….” 

“An asshole?” she supplied helpfully. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Still,” George said, trying to understand the impassive look on Anna’s face now that her eyes were completely covered. “The worst is over. I’ll deal with Donovan from now on. It wouldn’t do if you decided to one day crawl over that desk and strangle him by his tie.” 

“He’d deserve it,” Anna grumbled. It seemed, despite their success in getting up to date with the shop’s mortgage, that she was determined to be in a sour mood. To be fair, Donovan had spent most of their time there insinuating that Anna had coerced George into taking the brunt of the financial responsibility, despite how many times George insisted that their partnership would be, from here on out, fifty-fifty. 

“I’ll call my lawyer once we get back to the shop,” she said, “so she can bring over all of the paperwork you need to sign.” 

“Sure,” he nodded, finally taking his last sip of the coffee Anna made and tossing the cup into the trash. “Does that mean we’re going to open today?” 

“I suppose we shall,” she sighed, a smile finally pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You ready to work that cash register?” 

“How about I stop by my apartment and grab a couple of pick-me-ups for you?” he said, stifling a grin as Anna’s weak smile turned into a full-on giddy one. “Cloe misses you.” 

“I’ll open up, you go get the terrors,” she laughed, unlocking the shop as he continued down the street. She watched him go, feeling, for the first time in a long time, a weight come off her shoulders. She didn’t want to be naive, and she certainly didn’t want to count her chickens before they hatched or whatever that old adage was, but she was allowed to relish in her happiness sometimes, wasn’t she? 

She flipped the closed sign to open and trotted back to behind the counter, turning on her basic little coffee pot in the back so it would be ready with at least something when someone came in. 

That someone took less than a few minutes; Anna had just sent a text off to her lawyer, confirming their appointment for a couple of hours from now when the bell above the door jingled jauntily. 

She figured it was George; the Bluecoat didn’t often have a lot of customers, so why should she expect one right when she opened? But even as she opened her mouth to make a joke about him not bringing his dogs, she turned and found a man that was most definitely not George staring at the decor appreciatively. 

“Good morning,” she said cautiously, careful not to startle the man that looked engrossed in the Continental Dragoon uniform hanging on the wall. “Welcome to the Bluecoat Cafe.” 

He was significantly shorter than George, but still close to her height, his brown hair short and just barely curly. “Is this an authentic Continental uniform?” he asked, his voice just barely lilting with an English accent. 

“Oh, no,” Anna laughed. “One of my friends took a design class in college and recreated one based on one of his ancestors. It’s as historically accurate as possible, but the buttons and some of the materials have been modernized.” 

He nodded. “It’s a very good likeness. Your friend is very talented.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” Anna smiled, and the man followed suit. He had a very nice smile, she thought. It wasn’t until that smile faltered that Anna realized neither of them had said anything for a while. “Uh...so what can I get you?” 

“I heard you have a specialty,” he said. “How is it?” 

“Special,” she raised an eyebrow. “For here or to go?” 

“Oh, uh -” he stumbled, still processing her cheeky response to his last question. “Here?” 

“Name?” she asked. At his questioning glance, she hastened to add. “For the order.” The faster she asked the questions, the more flustered he became, and the more adorable the look on his face was. Anna suppressed a smile as he stared at her. 

“There’s...no one else here,” the man said softly, as if he was telling her a secret. 

“I know that, sweetie, I was just trying to get your name,” Anna replied, turning away from him to gather her necessary ingredients. When she turned back, he was still standing there, looking shocked. “Has a woman never asked for your name before?” 

“Well, that is to say - I mean, certainly,” his accent was more pronounced when he was nervous. “What I mean is, my name is Edmund,” he offered his hand. “Edmund Hewlett.” 

“Anna Strong,” she shook his hand as the smell of coffee started to overtake them. “If you don’t mind me asking, who told you about the specialty?” 

Edmund’s face, still flushed pink at her handshake, relaxed. “My boss, John Andre, said he’d been here before, and that the specialty was great.” 

“Andre…” she considered the name, mulling it over in her mouth. “I can’t say I remember him, but I’m glad he remembers us.”

“Me too,” he said softly as the door jingled again and Cloe bounded through, followed by George and the rest of his brood. 

“Cloe!” Anna crowed as the pup ducked behind the counter to greet her. “I’ve missed you!” She glanced up at Edmund, who was staring at them both with a smile. “Edmund, this is Cloe.”

“And that’s Captain, Tipsey, and Mopsey,” George finished, stepping up to the register. “Do I need to ring him up?” 

“George is new,” Anna confided in Edmund, loud enough for George to hear. “So you’ll have to bear with him.” She turned to George, standing expectantly in front of the cash register. “He ordered the specialty, so just punch in that little green button.” 

“Gotcha, boss,” George saluted comically, pushing the button. Anna leaned back on the counter to watch him struggle as the door jingled again. 

“Ben!” she exclaimed happily. “What are you doing here? Don’t you usually go flirt your way to a pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks?” 

Ben, his long blond hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of his neck, his yoga mat slung over his shoulder, grinned. “I got a text from Abigail that said everything went okay at the bank, so I thought I’d stop by and give you my congratulations.” 

Anna turned away from her friend to pour coffee into a huge mug for Edmund, sprinkling in the spices, sugar, and cream. “Well, Donovan was an ass -”

“What else is new?” Ben remarked, sliding onto the stool casually. “And who is this?” 

“That depends,” Anna said with a laugh, “which dog is it?” 

“Blue collar.” 

“That’s Captain,” George piped up, and Anna turned back with Edmund’s coffee in time to see his face flushed dark red, his eyes on the register. 

With a smirk that threatened to turn into a full-on grin, Anna slid the coffee over the counter to Edmund, who took it gently in his hands, like he was carrying some ancient artifact. Anna figured part of his apprehension was the fact that the drink was hot and the dogs underfoot, but he kept casting his gaze back at George and Ben, who was already sitting on the floor, surrounded by three of the dogs. 

“George,” she called as she settled into the seat across from Edmund, to his surprise, “meet Benjamin Tallmadge, one of my best and oldest friends. Ben, George Washington, business partner and dog herd owner.” 

Ben, from the floor, leaned back to get a better look at George, whose face was still pink. “Nice to meet you, George, I love dogs.” 

“Me too,” George replied dumbly. Anna tilted her head at him, trying to suppress a laugh. 

“He knows that,” she admonished lightly. 

“Oh, of course,” George stammered, finally stepping away from the register to better see Ben. “Right, why else would I have four dogs?” 

“The beginning of a dog sled team?” Ben supplied, holding up Cloe. “She’s a cutie!” 

“Yeah,” George said softly, “Yeah she is.” 

“Oh my god,” Anna stood from her spot in front of Edmund and jogged back behind the counter. “George, could I speak with you in the back for a moment? Edmund, this is Ben. Now that you two know each other, you should...talk or something.” 

She yanked George by the arm to the storeroom, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one could see or hear them. “What is your problem?” she asked, pushing his shoulder playfully. “You act like you’ve never hit on a man before.” 

George raised his eyebrows at her, as if shocked at her insinuation. Anna could have laughed if she wasn’t so mortified for him. “Go out there and compliment his yoga pants or something.” 

“I - I hadn’t noticed -”

“George, please,” she held up her hand. “Let’s not continue this charade with something that will embarrass you the second we go back out there and you start drooling again.” 

“I was not -”

“It’s okay, Ben’s a hot piece, we’ve all said so,” Anna said casually, ignoring the way George tugged his collar away from his throat. “But he does...bat for your team, so to speak, so go talk to him.” 

“I’m not sure this is appropriate workplace talk,” George admonished lightly. 

“Would you rather I left you out there to flounder like a seventh grader at his first dance?” Anna asked. “Ben’s nice, and he’s pretty easy to talk to. Go try it.” 

“Only if you go out there and talk to Edmund instead of watching me fail,” George coaxed. 

“Tell you what,” Anna said mischievously. “I’ll get Edmund’s number if you get Ben’s.” 

George blanched. “Can’t I just get it from you?” Anna glared at him. “Right, I guess not. You’ve got a deal.”


End file.
